Walnut by Stanka Parusheva traslated by Ann Wood
WalnutIt is my innate difference.
Like a sickle he asked me.
I will reach the great Nothing,
like a walnut of thunder struck.
A small, burnt tortoise,
the sign behind me will remain.
I was not a devil, not a saint -
I was a man of life weary.
Poetry by Ann Wood
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Written on 2017-12-01 at 16:42
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